


All For You (And Only For You)

by avengersasssemble



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, SteveTony Secret Santa 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 09:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avengersasssemble/pseuds/avengersasssemble
Summary: Happy SteveTony Secret Santa! This is my gift for @ellidfics on Tumblr, who requested Tony helping Steve adjust to the 21st century and domesticity. I hope you enjoy!!





	All For You (And Only For You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellidfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellidfics/gifts).



> Unbeta'd. Comments and kudos appreciated.

One of the most difficult aspects of the 21st century that he had to get used to was probably the showers.

Not that the showers in the 40s were all that different; no, the look of the shower was fine, but the water pressure was…intense, to say the least. At least in his SHIELD housing in Brooklyn, the pipes were the same small copper lines, and with enough finagling, he could make the water the same loose drips that he had been used to when Sarah was unable to pay their monthly water bill.

Then, the world tried to end, he found out he wasn’t exactly alone in his weirdness, his things were shuffled around, and he found himself trying to not only navigate the 21st century, but navigating it in a completely weird environment with nothing even remotely familiar to soothe him.

Not even the water pressure.

After his usual morning workout, Steve always headed upstairs to his own floor to shower, even though there was a perfectly good shower room attached to the gym. Figuring that no one had noticed—or at least didn’t care to comment—he split off from the team, seeking out the new solace he had created. It was his bathroom: Stark had said he could do anything to it he wished, so with his new strength, it wasn’t too hard to wrench off the showerhead, allowing the water to flow freely. Though it wasn’t the soft, fluoride-filled stream from Brooklyn, he could at least use a washcloth for an almost sponge-bath-type-thing, and it was close enough that he wasn’t going to complain.

Until, stripped down to naught but a towel tucked around his waist, he opened his bathroom door to see the team engineer fiddling with his shower, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration as he worked.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve asked, not at all apologetic that Tony was startled, yelping as he dropped his screwdriver on his foot.

“Aw, geez, Cap, no need to kill me here,” Tony grumbled, swiping his tool back up to keep working, “Jay said you…weren’t a fan of the shower. So, I’m fixing it.”

“You’re fixing it.”

“…Yes, that’s what I just said. It’s kind of my whole deal.”

Tony waved the screwdriver at Steve as if to make a point, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the showerhead.

“Jay said you, ah, decided that the water was a bit forceful, so you broke my house,” He continued, screwing the headpiece back on, “So I did some research, found an old forties showerhead, and refitted it with better metal so it can actually withstand full pressure in case you ever want to try it. Until then—”

He pointed to the side of Steve at the wall.

Turning, the Captain noticed a small spin-dial attached to the wall. Curious, he turned it all the way up.

“No, no no no, Steve—”

Tony yelped as water shot out from the showerhead, completely soaking him. Surprised, Steve quickly turned it back, having to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing at how much the other resembled a drowned rat.

“Yeah. That’s to turn the shower on, and it’ll have varying pressures as you move it up. The one next to it is water temperature. I was going to get you a fancy label-maker so you could label it yourself, but now I’m not so sure,” Tony grumbled, ignoring the squelch noise his shoes made as he started to gather up his tools and pack them away into his toolbox, “If you want more shit, you know where to find me. And if you do that again, I’m letting Barton into your art supplies again.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Again?” He repeated, sheepishly following Tony back out of the room.

“Are you a parrot today? No, not really again. That was Natasha the first time, but she also lent him your pastels, so don’t be too hard on Hawkass,” Tony sighed, smoothing a hand through his wet hair, “Look, Steve. You’re in my house now. If you need something, ask. Thor knows I have enough money to make sure you’re at least a comfortable senior citizen.”

Without waiting for an answer, Tony left, leaving Steve alone in the middle of his room, staring at the wet shoe-marks on his carpet.

“Thank you, Tony,” He finally said aloud, dashing away his curiosity.

Stark was the team’s unofficial caretaker, and that was that. Right?

* * *

The least difficult part of the 21st century that Steve easily sunk himself into was food.

Croissants, lasagna, pad Thai, moo goo gai pan—whatever he could find, he tried, and more often than not, he liked it. Being able to taste new, rich, and exotic flavors was addicting, and being able to blame his consumption on his new metabolism was an incredible bonus.

So, when the team caught him downing his third gallon of ice cream while watching Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Tony merely took the Neapolitan out of his hand and exchanged it for Moose Tracks, complaining that, “no one eats the goddamn strawberry except for me, so don’t eat the rest of the goddamn tub.”

Steve merely tucked into the new gallon, finding himself nestled between Tony and Thor as they all lounged around to join in on the movie. Though he quickly was annoyed by Bruce’s arguing with Clint over the legitimacy of the existence of zombies, he wasn’t distracted enough to notice Tony’s spoon encroaching into his Moose Tracks.

“Hey, you already took my Neapolitan, eat your own,” He grunted despite not moving the tub.

Tony raised an eyebrow, tilting his empty tub to show Steve. He shrugged, smirking as he stuck the spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. Steve blinked at that, glancing between Tony and the empty tub.

“…I’d only eaten half of that. You already ate it?” He said, a bit awed.

“Italian. Don’t even notice that I inhale it,” Tony snickered, setting his empty tub aside as he swiped the Moose Tracks from Steve’s hands, “Plus, I work it off. It’s fine.”

“Except that you’re lactose intolerant, Tony.”

“I take my pills, Brucey bear. Don’t you worry.”

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes, but he made no move to take the ice cream back, figuring Tony was just as territorial about food as he was with everything else. He crossed his arms and scooted down a bit, propping up his feet to try and disguise his pout, considering that his treat had been unfairly stolen.

“What’s your favorite?”

Turning to look up at Tony, Steve gave him a confused look.

“Ice cream, that is,” the engineer clarified, “What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Butter Pecan,” Steve answered easily.

“Disgusting.”

“Shut your whore mouth, Barton.”

“Tony, be nice. At least it isn’t Rum Raisin.”

“Or lobster.”

“They have lobster-flavored ice cream?”

Smiling as the bickering continued between Clint and Bruce again, Steve sat up a little straighter, his momentary disgruntlement gone. Seeing as the movie had ended, he stood with a stretch and bid them all goodnight, missing Tony’s lingering stare as he turned to head up to his room.

The next day, when opening the freezer to grab a pack of corn for Clint’s newest black eye, Steve paused, noticing the six tubs of Butter Pecan labeled ‘Iced Americano Only’ in the back. He smiled as he shut the door, reminding himself to write Tony a thank you note.

* * *

Probably the most annoying thing he had to get used to was people assuming that, since he was nearly 90-years-old, he would have trouble learning new technology. Sure, he missed out on a ton of technological history, but he didn’t need a lecture on using a damn coffee maker.

It happened constantly, whether the team intended to offend him or not. Clint would take the remote out of his hand when he was trying to remember how to change to the HDMI port, Bruce would pat him on the back and tell him that “not all of us can get the hang of technology like Tony”, and even Thor would skip over explaining Asgardian technology—but at least that was to the team as a whole.

The worst, though, was Tony.

No matter what it was, be it a Starkpad or even a goddamn mechanical pencil, Tony somehow seemed to have the need to explain in excruciating detail exactly what each new piece of tech did, even if Steve stopped him mid-sentence and explained that he knew what it was and how to use it.

“Tony, why?” He sighed one morning, looking at the square, red toy in his hand, “What is this?”

“It’s an Etch-a-Sketch,” Tony answered, pouring what Steve figured was his fourth or fifth cup of coffee, “It’s from the sixties. I figured you might like it. I know you’re more of a tin dollhouse kind of man, but I’m one hundred percent certain that if you lived in the sixties, you would have had one.”

Steve raised an eyebrow and looked down at the device. It seemed simple enough; two knobs, and when he turned them, a black line would wiggle across the white background.

“You shake it to get rid of the line. It’s all based on magnets and graphite strips and stuff, so don’t eat it. It’s a cool drawing exercise, though,” Tony continued, an embarrassed smile on his lips, “I used to have one at MIT. Rhodey would get me seemingly simple toys to frustrate the hell out of me when I couldn’t do shit with it.”

Steve stared back at Tony, narrowing his eyes at the other’s shrug.

“Maybe you can do some art magic, Cappuccino. Make something new out of the old, yeah?” Tony said, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder and giving it a small squeeze, “Good luck. Let me know how it goes.”

Once again left standing in the middle of the room with the ghost of the engineer’s hand on his shoulder, Steve watched as Tony left, then glanced down at the toy. He fiddled with the knobs for a bit to get the hang of it, then decided that maybe he could master something the great Tony Stark could not in terms of tech.

When he dropped the engineer’s portrait off, stuck firmly to the Etch-A-Sketch, he told Tony to try a bit harder next time he wanted to be embarrassed. Tony merely smirked up at Steve, a mysterious twinkle in his chocolate eyes.

Of course, once the electronic drawing pad arrived, Steve couldn’t help but grin as he tackled his next art project, determined to best the Stark again.

Definitely not to just improve his outlining of the shape to the engineer’s eyes.

* * *

He really should have realized it sooner, but he supposed that in adjusting to the new century, Steve hadn’t really taken the time to recognize Tony’s ‘help’ as advances. He honestly thought the engineer was just being _nice_ , but after one too many knowing looks from his teammates, Steve found himself pacing in his bedroom, strategically going through his previous discussions with Tony to try and look for any underlying motive: the shower, the ice cream, the technological advice—no matter how unnecessary, Tony was still very patient when Steve actually did need help—even the gifts of varying art supplies that would randomly show up on his doorstep seemed to point toward an ulterior motive.

 Looking over at his laptop, Steve’s gaze landed on the drawing pad attached to the device, a fond string tugging on his heart. Once Tony had caught wind of how easily Steve had picked up on it, he made a holographic board in his lab that Steve could send art to, allowing the engineer to “hang it up on the fridge, because that’s where it damn belongs, but no one has the time to print things, Steve.” Then, when Steve was in the lab, he would occasionally catch Tony looking at the display of doodles, a distant look in his usually focused eyes.

As realization slapped him across the face, Steve’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his eyes bugged as he stared at the floor.

“Well, shit,” he said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears, “Tony’s trying to _woo_ me.”

He paused, a giddy laugh working into his throat.

“Tony’s trying to woo me,” Steve repeated with a giggle, biting his lip bashfully as he fell back onto his bed.

Staring at the ceiling, he was absolutely certain he looked starry-eyed, but he couldn’t care less, considering only JARVIS could see him, and he figured the AI wouldn’t say anything. The smile stayed on his face for all of five seconds, before the doubt kicked in.

“Tony’s not trying to woo me,” He said to the ceiling, sounding pitiful, “He’s just being nice and helpful because you’re the team leader. That’s all.”

Hearing it out loud, it sounded wrong, but Steve rolled onto his side anyway, pulling down a pillow to prop under his head. He sighed softly and figured he could use advice, but the one person he wanted to talk to was the one person he wanted to talk _about_.

_Fuck it_ , Steve thought, forcing himself off the bed and to his feet, _You’re Captain America, just pretend that you’re not pining for your best friend and that it’s someone else._

He paused, rolling the plan around in his head for a moment. Deciding that it was good enough to see if he could determine if Tony returned his feelings, Steve slipped on moccasins, hoping that he could pull it off.

* * *

Steve barely got halfway down the elevator ride before chickening out.

“JARVIS, stop, take me to the main lounge,” he called out sourly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Of course, Captain.”

The elevator halted and started moving upwards again, only to stop and open at the communal kitchen. Moping, Steve trudged to the freezer, ignoring the way his heart sank when he pulled out a tub of Butter Pecan. He grabbed a spoon and headed for the couch, curling up on the end with his head perched on the arm. Sighing, Steve tucked into the ice cream, about to call it all moot when the couch dipped and a heavy body was soon sprawled over his own.

“So, what’re we being sad about?” Tony’s voice drifted over, “I mean, I usually don’t need an excuse to eat ice cream, but this is my second helping today and Bruce’ll kill me if I go through all my lactose pills before new ones come in again.”

“Nothing, Tony, I’m alright,” Steve answered, swirling around the slowly melting ice cream in his tub, “Just having an off day, I suppose.”

“No, I’ve seen your off days. That’s eating eight peanut butter and honey sandwiches at lunch. You only eat ice cream by yourself to either celebrate a day off or to mope,” Tony snorted back, “And considering we don’t really have days off anymore…”

Steve grumbled at that, not answering in favor of stuffing his face with more ice cream. Before he could scoop up more, the tub was plucked from his hands and replaced with Tony’s concerned face.

“How the hell—” Steve looked down, realizing that Tony was nearly laying completely on top of him. “—oh. Really? Give me that.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” the engineer insisted, staring at the other with narrowed eyes, “Or I’ll get Nat up here to interrogate it out of you.”

“Oh, threatening me?”

“Bartering doesn’t work with senior citizens. Unless you’d like me to move your housing to a swingers’ community?”

“Do I want to know what that is?”

“You really don’t.”

Huffing up at Tony, Steve finally relented and nodded, moving into a sitting position once the other clambered off of him.

“I’m…having trouble…emotionally,” he tried to explain, fumbling over his words, “I, ah, am interested in someone, but I’m not sure how to find out if they are interested back.”

Looking over at the engineer, Tony blinked, then smiled softly.

“I’m sure she’s head over heels for you, Cap,” he assured, “What’s not to like, right? You just have to ask her.”

“Him,” Steve corrected sheepishly, “Not her. Him.”

He looked away before he could see Tony’s reaction, closing his eyes to try and block out the negative reaction he was sure to get. Rather, he felt a hand rest on his knee and fingers on his chin, turning his head back toward Tony.

“Steve,” the other said gently, causing the Captain’s eyes to pop back open, “It’s okay. It’s accepted in this day and age, really. I mean, more than it was in the forties—”

“I really don’t care about that. There were plenty of fellas courting fellas and dames courting dames back then,” Steve snorted, “I—I just—”

He bit his lip, knowing that if he spilled more that he was probably going to spill it all anyway.

“I don’t know if he swings for the other team, too,” He continued, averting his gaze, “That, and we’re… close. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable when all he’s done is help me adjust and feel more at home here—plus, if he doesn’t return my feelings, it could make work awkward and strained, but I want to make it work _so badly_ —”

Feeling Tony’s hand go rigid on his thigh, Steve held his breath and hung his head, knowing the gig was up. Anxious, suffocating seconds ticked by until the other spoke.

“Well, uh, I don’t know which one of them it is, but Clint’s taken, Thor’s Asgardian and is probably our definition of pansexual, and Bruce generally defers to science rather than dating.”

Steve’s head shot up at that.

_One of them?_

“And you?” he heard himself ask.

Silence again.

“…Me? Well, I’ve been out as pansexual since my thirties. Publicly, though, I’ve mostly dated women. Men can be…”

“Sleazy? Not as good?” Steve finished, feeling a bit defeated.

“…Protective,” Tony laughed, “Women won’t beat up paparazzi. But, y’know, sometimes I wish they would.”

It was quiet again after that, and with Tony’s hand still on his thigh, Steve’s mind was racing to decipher the pieces of the conversation like he was cracking a cryptogram.

_Well,_ _he knows it’s a person on the team, but didn’t automatically assume it was him, which is both very Tony and very not-Tony. Tony assumes that EVERYONE is attracted to him on some level, but he assumed that I wouldn’t pick him, and Tony’s only ever that self-deprecating when—_

“Holy fuck you’re in love with me,” Steve said, immediately clapping his hand over his mouth once he realized he’d said it out loud.

He turned to look at Tony, and seeing the engineer’s distraught, confused, and somehow amused expression, Steve felt a weight lift off of his shoulders.

“Holy fuck,” he repeated slowly, “You’re in love with me.”

“I, uh, everyone is. I mean, to some degree, you’re _you_ ,” Tony stammered, eyes wide, “You’re _Captain America_ —”

“No,” Steve shook his head, turning to move toward Tony like a cat on the prowl as the other backed up, “You love _Steve Rogers_ , and you’re doing that thing where you immediately assume people are looking for someone else because when you _really love someone_ and don’t have the balls to tell them—”

“—I have plenty of balls—”

“—You give them gifts and hope they get the message and pine away in the workshop until you own up, the other person moves on because they had no idea you felt the same way, or in Pepper’s case, they kick your ass,” Steve finished, having successfully backed Tony up to the other arm of the couch, “Am I close?”

Tony gaped at him for a moment, and Steve realized that _wow, I really like this look on his face_.

“…You feel the same way?” Tony finally said.

Feeling heat climb up into his cheeks, Steve sat back, grinning sheepishly at the other’s positively predatory gaze.

“Did I say that?” he tried, laying down when Tony crawled forward and over him, “I—I, uh, I meant—”

“What, Steve?” Tony asked, hovering over Steve as he blinked at him innocently, “Meant what?”

Looking up, Steve noticed for the first time that Tony’s brown eyes had a little ring of gold on the very outside of the iris.

“That I more than love you,” he said back, surprising both Tony and himself, “I like you, too. More than a friend. I like-like you.”

“Like-like? Seriously? I was unaware we were in the fifth grade.”

“How _else_ am I supposed to explain—”

“It’s okay. I like-like you too.”

Stopping himself mid-sentence, Steve was sure he about passed out, but a beaming grin found its way to his face anyway.

“Okay. Cool. Um,” he tried, only to pout at Tony’s laughter, “Hey! I’m _trying_ to ask you on a date here, do you have to laugh—”

“Sorry. It’s cute how terrible you are at this,” Tony teased, sneaking in a small kiss on the tip of Steve’s nose, “We’ll go to dinner tonight. Dress nice. I’ll have J let you know when to be ready. Oh, and remember to put the ice cream away. No need to mope anymore, right?”

Steve was still stunned by the whirlwind conversation and _the kiss, god, he kissed me and it’s been ten seconds since he’s known this was the best idea I’ve ever had—_

“Steve?” Tony snapped his fingers in front of the blond, concerned eyes looking down at him, “You in there? Or are you still overtaken by my dashing good looks?”

“I think I just died,” Steve answered, grinning at Tony’s laugh as the other clambered off of him, “I’m pretty sure I died. I just died and went to heaven and met the most beautiful angel—”

“Oh, thanks.”

“—who told me that a devil in hell had accidentally sent me upstairs and that he had a particularly nice torturer for me.”

“You know what, I change my mind, fuck you.”

Steve laughed as he got up and tugged Tony into a hug, resting his chin on the top of Tony’s head. They stood like that for a while, wrapped in each other, until the smaller man cleared his throat.

“Can I ask about something?” Tony asked.

“You just did, but sure,” Steve teased, grunting when the other pinched his side.

“Do—do I really make you feel at home?”

The question lingered in the air for a moment as Steve ran his hands up and down Tony’s back, trying to help the other relax.

“Yeah, you really do,” he answered softly, “Tony—you gave me a home. Literally. You invited me in and asked after me and did everything you could to try and help me adjust.”

He pulled back, forcing Tony to make eye contact with him as he smiled down at the brunet.

“Brooklyn in the forties will always be my original flesh and blood,” Steve continued, reaching up to brush away an unusually stray lock of hair from Tony’s forehead, “But the new body needs a new place to thrive, and it’s here, with you, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With a new smile, Tony nodded, pressing his forehead against Steve’s sternum before pulling away completely.

“Dinner,” he said, walking backward, “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

As he watched Tony turn on his heel and presumably escape to the workshop, Steve turned to gather up their melted ice cream, biting his lip bashfully as he cleaned the mess. He found himself unable to think of anything else, his mind wandering to the speckles of gold in Tony’s bright doe-eyes as he rode the elevator back up to his floor. Stepping out onto the plush carpet, Steve padded over to his coffee machine, using muscle memory to make himself a cup as he thought about Tony’s hands. It soon turned to his lips and his smile as Steve went to stand in front of the bay windows, casting his gaze out over modern Manhattan.

Perhaps he was adjusting a little better than he thought.


End file.
